


An Echo of Things to Come: Epilogue - Continuation

by Red Dragon (Red_Dragonn)



Category: Licanius Series - James Islington
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble, Epilogue, Gen, MY PRECIOUS MURDER BOY, No Plot/Plotless, Not Good, Sad, Short, angsty caeden, apparently i'm the only one in this damn fandom, bc it sucks ass to not have available fic, caeden needs a hug, even though this is bad, i love him so much, i tried to work the title in but it didn't work, so i'm trying to put this anywhere i can so that other fans can see that they're not alone, spoilers for every single book in the series so far lmaoooo, the shadow of what was lost - Freeform, there is no such thing as a happy drabble with me huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:59:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Dragonn/pseuds/Red%20Dragon
Summary: a continuation of the epilogue of An Echo of Things to Come, because it really fucked me up and i need to let off some steam





	An Echo of Things to Come: Epilogue - Continuation

**Author's Note:**

> please for the love of god let there be another single person who reads these books and writes fanfiction because i will fucking pay you to just write...i'm not even a good writer i don't want to write...please write fanfiction please i need it

Caeden stared with horrified, wide eyes at the blank wall of the Wells. Davian's angry word echoed in his mind, "It's not fate and it's not love and it was never, ever, because you thought that you were doing the right thing! You know this! You know this better than--"

The red haze he remembered, the anger and remembered pain in his voice as he screamed out and swung Licanius at his friend. The knowledge that even if then he hadn't known who Davian was, he still had recognized the truth in his words. 

Caeden had managed by now to grow used to the sort of wanton violence that he would remember from his time as Aarkein Devaed, and the revulsion and shame he had sitting heavily in his gut had less to do with the act of murder, than it did that the knowledge that in his past, in his anger, he had killed one of his only friends--and then, as though that was not bad enough, he had posted his head on a pike at the doors of Iladriel's Gate as a warning and as a proof of his _victory_ in punishing a man who he had come to know and appreciate. A proof of _victory_. Caeden's stomach churned at the throught. 

And to further complicate this, of course, he had sworn left and right that he would never harm Davian or Wirr or any of his other friends. But if Davian was already dead by his hand, millennia in his blood-drenched past already, then what hope was there? Who the hell did Caeden think he was kidding by trying to change? He had lived as a murderer, a monster, a beast in human form for thousands upon thousands of years; and in that time he had come to despise the man who he had been enough to wipe him from existence as much as he could, to try to start fresh--but had it worked? It had not. 

As Caeden sat there, horror and sorrow warring for attention within him, he sat and pondered and realized one simple, awful truth:

The shadow of what he had been would hang over him for as long as he existed, no matter how hard he struggled to escape.


End file.
